ea, as if spell-bound. He got up at last, cramped and
rather chilly. There was no longer light in any window. And he went in
to bed.

Out of a deep and dreamless sleep he was awakened by the sound of
thumping on the door. A shrill voice called:

"Hi! Breakfast's ready."

He jumped up. Where was he--? Ah!

He found them already eating marmalade, and sat down in the empty place
between Stella and Sabina, who, after watching him a little, said:

"I say, do buck up; we're going to start at half-past nine."

"We're going to Berry Head, old chap; you must come!"

Ashurst thought: 'Come! Impossible. I shall be getting things and going
back.' He looked at Stella. She said quickly:

"Do come!"

Sabina chimed in:

"It'll be no fun without you."

Freda got up and stood behind his chair.

"You've got to come, or else I'll pull your hair!"

Ashurst thought: 'Well--one day more--to think it over! One day more!'
And he said:

"All right! You needn't tweak my mane!"

"Hurrah!"

At the station he wrote a second telegram to the farm, and then tore it
up; he could not have explained why. From Brixham they drove in a very
little wagonette. There, squeezed between Sabina and Freda, with his
knees touching Stella's, they played "Up, Jenkins "; and the gloom he was
feeling gave way to frolic. In this one day more to think it over, he
did not want to think! They ran races, wrestled, paddled--for to-day
nobody wanted to bathe--they sang catches, played games, and ate all they
had brought. The little girls fell asleep against him on the way back,
and his knees still touched Stella's in the narrow wagonette. It seemed
incredible that thirty hours ago he had never set eyes on any of those
three flaxen heads. In the train he talked to Stella of poetry,
discovering her favourites, and telling her his own with a pleasing sense
of superiority; till suddenly she said, rather low:

"Phil says you don't believe in a future life, Frank. I think that's
dreadful."

Disconcerted, Ashurst muttered:

"I don't either believe or not believe--I simply don't know."

She said quickly:

"I couldn't bear that. What would be the use of living?"

Watching the frown of those pretty oblique brows, Ashurst answered:

"I don't believe in believing things because a one wants to."

"But why should one wish to live again, if one isn't going to?"

And she looked full at him.

He did not want to hurt her, but an itch to do